


(i've been) waiting for a girl like you

by stopthenrewind



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:31:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stopthenrewind/pseuds/stopthenrewind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesse's always been a big believer of happy endings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(i've been) waiting for a girl like you

**Author's Note:**

> So I re-watched the movie last week, thinking it was a good idea, and this happened. No plot, really; pretty much just 800 words of my feelings that came out of nowhere.
> 
> Title from the Foreigner song of the same name.

When Beca’s voice fills the stadium, singing the one song he’s never expected to hear from the Bellas’ set list, he looks up in both surprise and confusion.

She’s standing there in all her five-foot glory with the spotlight trained on her, staring at him with a determined look on her face. When she catches his gaze and smiles a tiny smile, he totally pretends his heart doesn’t stop beating before he remembers he’s supposed to be mad or upset or “letting go of her” (Donald’s and Benji’s words, not his), or whatever, but it all seems futile now, somehow. Because he _can’t_ , and that right there is the problem.

“Will you call my name?” she sings, and Jesse can’t help the warmth expanding in his chest or the grin that spreads across his face, because this is Beca apologizing, this is Beca telling him she’s made a mistake, this is Beca telling her he’s worth it. And he pumps his fist Judd Nelson style, because this is Beca, and he wants his cheesy movie ending, and why the hell not?

He sees her face break into a smile (a smile that he swears lights up the room and shoots straight, deep into his chest), before she throws her own fist in the air, too, lights flashing behind her, glowing a stunning blend of blue and pink and purple color. He thinks it looks beautiful.

He thinks she looks even more beautiful, which is insane.

She lowers her arm to point in his direction. _Don’t you forget about me,_ she’s saying, blue eyes boring into his. A question, a plea, an apology, all rolled into that one look from across a sea of faces and song and feelings.

He laughs a little when she grins, ignoring how Donald is elbowing him with a cheeky, knowing grin, and nods to let her know, _I won’t._

 

::

 

She comes down the stage, after, after the Bellas’ performance that he isn’t too proud to admit was totally kickass and totally had her written all over it. She runs to him, throws her arms around his neck, and hugs him, her hold on him tight and needy and lingering; Jesse revels on the feel of her skin on his, on the sweet smell of her hair, on the feather-light touch of her fingers on the back of his neck, making him shiver.

She pulls away, a smile tugging the corners of her mouth upwards, hand lingering on his jaw. He’s never seen her smile this big or this much before, and he involuntarily leans into her touch. _Is this really happening?_ his eyes seem to ask. _Is this for real?_

She gives an almost imperceptible nod of her head and tries to hide her smile against his shoulder. His heart maybe kind of leaps into his throat at the tiny gesture because this is _Beca_ and he thinks that she's really been worth everything, all along.

“You were awesome,” he says, for lack of anything better to say, and besides, it’s the truth. He can’t believe she’s here, his hands attached to her waist, hips fitting perfectly against hers, and she isn’t pulling away or freaking out or screaming at him that she doesn’t need him in her life, like she kind of tends to do.

“Yeah, we were,” she says, her voice smug, a breathy laugh tickling his ear; and it’s a little weird, hearing her giggle, because Beca never, _ever_ giggles. It’s a strange thought altogether. “Don’t sell yourself short, though, dude; you guys were great, too. Just not ICCA champion great, better-than-the-badass-Bellas great.”

“Looks like someone’s a bit too full of herself,” he rolls his eyes, though he’s not really annoyed. How can he be, when he’s holding her like this, when she’s actually _letting_ him? “You don’t have to rub it in, you know.”

Her eyes are still laughing, a bit mocking but mostly genuine and soft and vulnerable and _beautiful_ (she’s so freaking beautiful; he doesn’t know why he keeps being surprised by this realization every single day, like he’s always seeing her for the first time).

“You deserve your gigantic ego to get taken down a notch,” she says, lips quirking into a smirk that should be made illegal.

He presses his thumbs against her hipbones, drawing gentle circles as he sighs into her hair. He thinks this is the moment, this is the part where he kisses her and she kisses him back and the audience thinks: this, this is why people like happy endings, this is why people like little moments of affection and declarations of love and unconventional serenades.

So he says, “Beca,” and he waits.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t unwind her arms from around his neck. He feels her fingers tug on the ends of his hair, pulling his face closer to hers, a smile forming on the corners of her lips.

She’s still smiling when he leans in closer and presses his mouth to hers.

 

::

 

Spoiler alert:

It _is_ the perfect ending.


End file.
